Invitation to a Gunfight by JS
by Teprac S
Summary: A stranger comet to town to kill Chris. Rating is for possible offensive language. Please review.


This here is an amateur publication by an amateur writer written for and published solely for the enjoyment of fans of the television series THE MAGNIFICENT SEVEN (now gone to its undeserved reward), and is not intended to infringe on the copyright of CBS nor anyone else. The story is copyright 1999 by Jesse Syring. The fanzine it came from is called Four Corners a one-shot Magnificent Seven fanzine, published by Jim & Melody Rondeau, 1853 Fallbrook Ave., San Jose CA 95130-1727. The publishers do need material for their on-going western fanzine, BUFFALO WINGS; please send all submissions to them.

INVITATION TO A GUNFIGHT

by Jessie Syring

"Here comes trouble."

Josiah Sanchez's quiet observation made Vin Tanner look up from the stick he was whittling. The former missionary's attention was focused on a horse and rider approaching the saloon. Tanner cocked his head to study the stranger.

"He looks like something out of a penny dreadful," observed Ezra Standish from the chair to Tanner's left.

Tanner agreed with that statement. The horse was a pinto, flashy of color and movement. Sunlight glinted off the silver on its saddle and bridle as well as the band of its rider's hat. The man wore black, accented by silver in the bolo around his neck, buttons, and cuff links. A well-tooled gun belt hung low on his hips, the walnut grips of his twin revolvers nearly black from oiling.

Tanner's brow creased in a frown. The newcomer reined in at the saloon and dismounted. He looped his reins around the hitching rail, eying the men on the porch. His eyes widened in recognition, and he moved up the steps.

"Howdy, Vin."

"Lassiter," the hunter acknowledged, his tone flat. "You're a long way from Montana."

"So're you."

Lassiter strode into the saloon. Ezra and Josiah turned curious looks on their friend. Tanner's expression was unusually grim, and he was absently running a thumb along the edge of his knife.

"You know Mr. Lassiter?" Josiah asked obliquely.

Vin nodded. "When I was huntin' buffalo, I ran into him a few times. Last time I saw him, he had an appointment with a hangman up in Miles City."

Tanner sheathed his knife and rose. He walked into the saloon, pausing in the doorway a moment to let his eyes adjust to the darkness. Lassiter was leaning on the bar, his back to the swinging doors. His dark eyes used the large mirror behind the bar to watch his back. Tanner joined him, shaking his head to ward off the approach of Ezra's Mexican partner, Inez Rosillo.

"Who're you gunning for?" Tanner asked, getting right to the point.

Lassiter sipped his whiskey. "Who says I'm gunning for anyone?"

Tanner turned to face him. "I do. You wouldn't come to a backwater town like this unless you plan adding to your reputation by killing someone."

"I want Chris Larabee. You know him?"

"You could say that." Tanner leaned on the bar. "You're wastin' your time. He won't get prodded into a showdown."

A malicious grin tugged at Lassiter's lips. "We'll see."

"Ride out while you still can, Lassiter. He's better'n you."

"We'll see about that, too." Tanner turned to leave. "Stay out of this, Vin," Lassiter warned. "I considered you a friend once. I'd hate to have to kill you, too."

Tanner walked out of the saloon. The others looked at him expectantly, but Vin ignored them. He knew where he'd find Larabee.

"King Lassiter?" said Chris Larabee, looking up from the board he was sawing.

Tanner nodded, eying the stack of bullet-riddled boards Larabee was replacing from the front of his cabin.

"Says he's looking for you. Guess he thinks killing you'll improve his reputation."

"Only if he beats me." Larabee let go of the saw and wiped the sweat from his brow. "How well do you know him?"

"More by reputation than anything else," admitted Tanner. "But I've spent time on the trail with him. He's got a grudge against the world."

"So I've heard."

"How you plan on handling it?"

"That's up to Lassiter."

Larabee walked to where his white shirt and gunbelt were draped over a sawhorse.

"King Lassiter?" J.D. Dunne's voice squeaked as, he repeated Buck Wilmington's words. "_The_ King Lassiter?"

"How many people do you know with a sissy name like 'King', kid?" asked Buck. "Of course it's 'the King Lassiter.'"

"I-It's just that... that" J.D. looked around. "I hear he's killed ten men."

"Twelve," corrected Nathan Jackson. The black healer sank into a chair across the table from them. "All of them in fair fights."

"He was facing them," Buck amended, the corner of his mustache twitching in agitation. "It's not always the same thing."

J.D. craned his neck toward the door, as if he could see the famed killer seated on the porch outside. "I hear he's fast. Maybe even faster than Chris. You think Chris can beat him?"

"I hope it doesn't come, to that." Nathan reached for the bottle of whiskey in the center of the table. "I have enough trouble keeping the six of you in one piece."

"I wouldn't worry too much about Chris," said Buck. "He's not gonna let himself get pushed into a fight. And even if he did... well, I still wouldn't be too worried."

Larabee and Tanner rode into town together. Lassiter watched them from the porch of the Standish Tavern, smiling around a thin cigarillo. They disappeared into the livery stable. Lassiter bided his time, enjoying the smoke and whiskey. Before long, the men emerged and headed for the saloon.

"I hear you're fast with that gun," Lassiter said by way of greeting.

Larabee didn't even slow down, just continued into the saloon. He went directly to the bar and accepted a shot of whiskey from Inez while Tanner joined the others at the table.

Lassiter came through the doors behind him.

"I heard you were hiding out here," Lassiter said, standing behind Larabee and slightly to his right. "Nice, quiet town. Could be a nice place to retire." The fair-haired man merely sipped his whiskey. "I've heard you've got quite a reputation. But you've gone soft, selling your gun for a measly dollar a day. That's hardly enough to buy whiskey."

"Why don't you crawl back under your rock, Lassiter?" asked Larabee, his tone dangerously soft.

"I will, just as soon as I'm done here." He stepped closer to the other gunfighter, "I've had half a dozen men offer me good money just to shoot you, in the back. But you must be getting old; no one's made me an offer in six months."

An angry growl left Buck's throat. Larabee finally looked over his shoulder, regarding Lassiter the same way he might a body insect. He turned around slowly, and Lassiter took a step back-to make room in case Larabee made a play. But Larabee walked past him, headed for the door.

"Coward."

Larabee paused in the doorway for just a brief instant, then walked out. Lassiter stepped up to the bar, a knowing half-smile on his face.

"Bring me a beer," he told Inez.

Inez tossed her head back and folded her arms. "Sorry, senor, but the bar is closed."

Lassiter lost his smile for a moment, then nodded slowly. He turned and walked out the bat-wing doors.

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Larabee finished reloading his revolver and spun it once on his finger before dropping it back in its holster. Flexing his fingers, he walked to the cans and bottles he had gathered and chose six more. He placed them at irregular intervals on the dirt mound he was using as a backdrop and moved back toward his horse.

Six shots rang out in quick succession. Larabee twisted back toward the mound, gun swinging toward the sound. Lassiter stood on top of the mound, holding one of his revolvers in his hand but pointed away from Larabee. The cans were scattered, the two bottles shattered.

"Heard you come out here to practice," said the intruder, holstering his revolver. "You're not too bad for an old man."

Larabee returned his gun to its holster. "You really think you're something, don't you, Lassiter?" he asked.

"I know I am."

"You think killing me's going to make you that much more important?"

Lassiter shrugged. "I'll be the man who killed you."

"You're not the first one who's tried it. If you keep pushing, you'll end up the, same way they did," Larabee warned. He turned away and walked toward his horse.

"Your days're numbered, cowboy!" shouted Lassiter.

Larabee spun around, drawing his gun. He fanned the hammer six times, and a single can spun and jumped with each hit. He tipped his hat to Lassiter and, smiling slightly, mounted his horse and rode away.

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"Mr. Lara... Chris?"

Larabee paused in unsaddling his black gelding and looked over his shoulder. Mary Travis stood in the entrance of the livery stable. Beyond her, at the water trough, he could see Lassiter.

"Billy was wondering if the two of you were still going fishing tomorrow. I mean, we haven't seen you in two days, and I was afraid maybe he'd said or done something--"

"You don't have to worry about that, Mary. He's a good kid." Larabee turned his attention to his horse again.

"But it'd be a good idea if he... stayed away from me for a few days."

Mary glanced over her shoulder toward the other man. Everyone in town had been talking about it since Lassiter had ridden into town: trouble was brewing. "Is there anything I can do to help?" she asked softly.

Larabee didn't look at her. "Stay away from him, Mary. I don't want anything happening to you or Billy."

With that, he left the stable. Mary didn't hear what Lassiter said to him, but the encounter between the gunfighters reminded her of two stray dogs meeting for the first time. But Larabee just walked away.

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"Tanner ignored Lassiter's greeting as he walked past him into the Standish Tavern. He had known where he'd find Larabee when he saw the gunman. Larabee was seated at a table as far from the bar and the handful of other patrons as he could get, a half-empty bottle of whiskey in front of him. He stared at the bottle but Tanner doubted he really saw it. Tanner collected a beer from Inez and moved to the table.

"Room for one more?" he asked. Larabee looked up. The former buffalo hunter took that as a yes and sat down. "I heard Lassiter followed you this morning. Word is you put on quite a show."

Larabee picked up his shot glass. "He's lucky I didn't shoot him and get this over with."

Tanner raised his eyebrows and shrugged slightly. "Can't say this wouldn't be a better place for it." He took a drink of beer and said, "Me and the others'll see what we can do about keeping him off your back."

Larabee nodded his thanks. A slight smile crossed his lips. "Ezra taking bets on how long it'll be before he rides out or I kill him?"

Tanner returned the grin. "You gotta ask?"

Lassiter emerged from the barbershop, smoothing the last of the wax from his mustache. The gunman looked around, letting his gaze briefly rest on the youngster seated on the edge of the boardwalk across the street. J.D. hastily turned his attention back to the newspaper he held. Lassiter nodded and began walking toward the restaurant. He passed the restaurant and ducked between it and the jail.

J.D. abandoned the paper and followed, moving around the other side of the restaurant. He emerged behind the buildings and paused. Lassiter was nowhere in sight. He checked between the buildings, then considered the scattered outhouses.

The door on one outhouse began to open, and J.D. saw Lassiter emerge. He quickly ducked into the nearest outhouse and pulled the door shut. From outside he heard a low chuckle.

"Make yourself comfortable, kid. You'll be there a while."

Frantically J.D. tried the door, but it wouldn't open again.

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Tanner stared out the window of the telegraph office, lost in thought. Larabee had ridden out nearly an hour earlier, and J.D. was keeping a watch on Lassiter so they'd have some warning if he went riding after Larabee.

"Mr. Tanner?" called the telegraph operator. "I've gotten a reply to one of your messages."

Tanner turned. He had only been dimly aware of the click of the telegraph key. He accepted the piece of paper and quickly scanned the message there.

"Much obliged," he said with a quick nod of his head. He strode outside.

"You checking up on me, Vin?"

Tanner turned to see Lassiter leaning against the wall of the building, lighting a cigarillo. He glanced around quickly, but saw no signs of J.D. or the others. Lassiter noticed the look.

"Don't worry about the kid. I locked him in a back house. It's not the best place to duck into to avoid being seen." Lassiter nodded at the paper Tanner held. "Don't get involved, Vin. I will kill you."

Tanner ignored the threat and headed for the church on the outskirts of town. As he drew closer, he could hear the sound of hammering and sawing coming from inside. Josiah was carefully sanding a piece of wood in a window frame. His smile faded at Tanner's approach.

"You look like a man with a lot on your mind, Brother Vin," he said.

Nathan stuck his head out the doorway. "This got something to do with Chris and that gunslinger?"

"Killer," amended Tanner. "I got a response from a friend in Montana."

"Come inside and share what you've learned," Josiah invited.

Tanner walked into the church and handed Josiah the telegram. Seems Lassiter broke out of jail before they could hang him. Killed a deputy in the escape. They've put a price of eight hundred dollars on his head."

Nathan let out a low whistle. "And nobody's tried to collect?"

Josiah picked up his piece of sandpaper again. "The world would be a better place without Mr. Lassiter in it."

"I ain't gonna argue with that," said Nathan. "I just hope we don't lose Chris in the process.

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Larabee walked out of the restaurant, his food hardly touched. He wasn't surprised to find Lassiter occupying a chair on the porch, his feet propped on the rail and his chair tilted back on two legs.

"Nice lady, that Mrs. Travis, "observed Lassiter. "Real nice kid, too. Bad case of hero worship, but there's no accounting for taste." His lips twisted as he saw Larabee stiffen slightly. "Must remind you a lot of your wife. What was her name? Sarah?"

Larabee spun around. His foot hooked the chair, pulling it over even as he grabbed Lassiter's shirt and threw him to the ground. Lassiter struggled to sit up, but Larabee drove his fist into the other man's face.

Larabee grabbed Lassiter's shirt and dragged him to his feet. He smashed a vicious uppercut into the other gunman's jaw, knocking him backward into the street. Every time Lassiter tried to rise, the older man knocked him flat again. Finally, Lassiter didn't even move as Larabee pulled him to his knees. Larabee looked at him, then kicked him flat in the street again. Larabee turned and walked away.

A small crowd had gathered to watch the fight. Nathan started toward the fallen man, but Larabee's hard stare stopped him. Behind them, Lassiter struggled to a sitting position, fumbling for his own pistol. He heard a click behind him and froze, glancing over his shoulder at the cocked revolver Buck held in a not-so-casual manner. Buck's expression was a malicious smile.

"Not a good idea to shoot anybody in the back," warned Buck. "Especially him."

Lassiter's eyes burned with hatred, but he kept his hands clear of his pistols as he staggered to his feet, wiping blood from his face. He turned his back on Buck and strode toward the hotel.

Across the street, J. D. let out a shaky sigh and let his own hands fall away from his pistols. For just a moment, he had been afraid the gunmen were going to shoot it out right there in front of the restaurant.

"Lassiter's gonna push his luck too far one of these times."

J.D. turned, startled. Casey Wells was seated on the hitching rail a few feet behind him and to the right, swinging her legs. Her long brown hair was tucked up under her floppy, brimmed wool hat.

"What do you know about it?" asked J. D., turning toward her.

"I know he locked you in the back house. "

"That has nothing to do with this!" J. D. said hotly.

"And I know he's been pushing Chris since he rode in." Casey slid off her perch, adjusting her baggy bibbed overalls. "They're taking bets down at the Standish Tavern on how long it'll be."

J. D.'s eyes widened in shock. "They're betting Chris'll get in a gunfight?"

"It's not like people around here have anything better ta do, J. D. If two flies land on a wall, they'll bet on which one'li take off first. "

"We'll see about that. "

J. D. stalked toward Ezra's saloon. Casey watched him go, then looked after the departing gunslinger. He had paused to light a thin cigar. He looked up and down' the street, then ducked quickly between two buildings. Curious, Casey followed.

Lassiter was gone when she reached the narrow space. She paused, then went through the alley way as well. She reached the back of the buildings, and Lassiter grabbed her.

"Well, well, well. Did the kid send you to spy on me?" he demanded.

"He's not a kid! He is more of a man than you'll ever be!" Casey protested, trying to twist free of his grasp.

"Did the kid send you? Answer me!"

"Let me go!"

Unable to fight any other way, Casey lashed out with her foot. The toe of her boot connected solidly just below Lassiter's knee. He swore, hunching forward in pain, and she spit in his face.

Lassiter swore again and lost his grip on her. Before she could turn to run, a vicious back-hand sent her sprawling to the ground. She sat up, holding her rapidly discoloring cheek.

"Go away, little girl, and mind your own business," growled Lassiter, wiping the spittle from his face.

Casey scrambled to her feet and fled.

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J. D. paused in the door of the saloon. Inez was at one end of the bar, talking pleasantly to a handsome man who was drinking tequila. She flashed a brilliant smile at the youngster but, didn't interrupt the conversation. Ezra was taking advantage of the lack of customers to take inventory of his stock.

"I want a word with you, Ezra," J. D. said, walking up to him.

The Southerner cocked an eye at him. "And what word might that be?" he drawled. "Whiskey? Perhaps you'd like to try tequila? Or just a glass of milk?" He leaned forward and said, "Inez makes a mean hot chocolate. Or so I've been informed."

J. D. ignored the jibe. "I hear you're taking bets on the gunfight."

Ezra set down the bottle he was inspecting. "Not the gunfight, exactly. We're betting on how long it will be before Mr. Larabee decides he's had enough of Mr. Lassiter's irksome presence."

"There's a difference?"

"A fine one. And I'm allowing no betting on the outcome. "

J. D. shook his head. "Who's taking part in it?"

"About a dozen of my regular patrons, myself, Mr. Wilmington, Mr. Sanchez--"

"Josiah bet on it?" J. D.'s voice squeaked with indignation.

"Indeed," Ezra's lips curled in a slight smile. "However, there is considerable debate about exactly when hell will freeze over."

The bat-wing doors swung open and Buck swaggered in, a cocky smile on his face. "Morning, J. D., Ezra."

He tipped his hat to the pretty Mexican. "Ma'am. "

"Senor Buck. " Inez moved toward him. 'Whiskey?"

"Oh, no, ma'am. I try to avoid drinking before noon. "

She leaned on the bar in front of him. "Then what can I do for you?"

Buck's smile broadened. "Ma'am, you're already doing it. "

Ezra's eyes rolled, and he cleared his throat. "Come to check the pool, Mr. Wilmington?"

"Hm?" Buck finally managed to tear his gaze away from Inez. "Yeah. I thought I'd see who bet today.

"Inez frowned slightly. Ezra turned to take a ledger from a shelf behind him. He set the book on the bar and opened it with the care he might show a treasure map.

J. D. shook his head in disgust. "You make me sick!" He stormed out of the saloon.

"Would he be more understanding if he knew I lost my bet two days ago?" wondered Ezra.

"Probably not. " Buck leaned over the bar. "Who's up today?"

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J. D. left the saloon and headed toward the jail. No one was likely to interrupt him there, and he wanted time to think. He passed the restaurant and paused. Casey was sitting' on the edge of the porch, arms wrapped around her knees. She looked up at his approach, then quickly looked away again, but J. D. saw the bruise.

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Josiah pushed open the church door and paused, surprised to see a familiar black-dressed figure seated in the first pew. Of the seven friends, Larabee avoided the church more than any. The former missionary wasn't offended; he believed every man had to find his own peace with whichever god he chose.

"Chris?" he called softly. "You look like a troubled man, my friend. Did you come here seeking peace?" Larabee smiled cynically as Josiah came to sit beside him. "I figured this is the last place Lassiter'd come looking for me. . "

"He has been a. . . presence around town," agreed Josiah. "But he'd find no welcome here."

Neither man spoke for a long time.

"Sometimes it helps to talk, Chris. "

"Talk? Hell, I should just kill the son of a bitch. He's given me no peace, and he keeps pushing."

"Could you beat him?"

"I don't know," Larabee admitted uneasily, running a hand through his unruly blond hair. "I haven't given it much thought."

Josiah leaned back in the pew, listening. Larabee got to his feet and began pacing.

"After Sarah and Adam died, I spent a lot of time drifting around. Looking for trouble, I guess," he said. "Maybe just looking for a place to die. But I'm harder to kill than most."

"A reputation is a hard thing to live with," Josiah said knowingly.

"A few years ago, I was no different than Lassiter. I would've killed him as soon as I heard he was hunting me." Larabee paused, staring at the older man. "Now I just don't know."

"Chris, I haven't known you long. Less than a year. You're not normally a man of patience. But in the last five days, you've shown the patience of Job."

"And the courage of a snake," the gunslinger said cynically.

"Sometimes it takes more courage to walk away from a fight."

The church door swung open with a crash. Both men spun toward the sound, drawing their weapons. Casey rushed inside, tears streaming down her face. She ran to Larabee, who stiffened at seeing the ugly bruise on her cheek.

"You've got to come!" she cried. "Hurry!"

"What's,wrong?" demanded. Larabee. "Who did. this,to. you?"

"J. D.'s going after Lassiter!"

Larabee was halfway to the doors when they heard the shot. Josiah paused only long enough to tell Casey to stay put, then he followed Larabee out of the church at a run.

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Tanner walked up the stairs to the office Nathan used for his doctoring. He opened the door and joined the others in the crowded space. Nathan was bent over the still, pale figure of J. D., assisted by the steady hands of Josiah. Ezra stood at the window, watching the street, while Buck paced anxiously around the room. Larabee remained a brooding shadow to the right of the door.

"How's the kid?" Tanner asked, joining Larabee.

"He'll be all right," said Nathan, straightening. "He's lost a lot of blood, but the bullet passed right through his shoulder."

"Well, that's real good to hear. " Buck's voice was a barely audible growl.

Larabee raised his head to look at the tracker. "Did you find Lassiter?"

Tanner nodded. "He's,waiting for you at Adobe Springs."

"Then that's where I'm heading."

Buck started for the door, but Larabee blocked his path.

"It's me he wants, Buck. Stay out of this."

"Damn it, Chris--"

"This is my fight, Buck!" Larabee looked at Tanner. "Vin, make sure nobody leaves here."

"You got it."

Larabee slipped out the door, and Tanner moved to block it, thumbs hooked in his gun belt. The others eyed him but detected no emotion or sign of giving in on his face. Ezra moved the curtain aside and watched Larabee ride out of town.

"Exactly how long do you plan on keeping us incarcerated?" he asked, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully.

"Long as I need to." Tanner leaned against the door for a moment, watching the clock on Nathan's desk until a full minute passed. "I reckon that's long enough."

He opened the door and led the way out.

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Larabee slowed his horse to a fast walk as the ruined stage' station that marked the location of Adobe Springs came into view. The old station had been the site of an Indian massacre years ago, and only the ruins and a handful of lonely, weather-beaten crosses remained.

Lassiter's paint was tied to the remains of the corral gate. Larabee reined in beside it and dismounted. He tied his horse, then slipped out of his black duster and tied it behind his saddle. He caught a whiff of tobacco smoke even before he heard the jingle of spurs.

"Didn't think you'd show up alone," said Lassiter, his tone mocking.

"I don't need help dealing with the likes of you." Larabee moved out from between the horses. "You're getting your showdown."

Lassiter walked around his opponent, still smoking,his cigarillo. His face was bruised and cut from the beating Larabee had given him. "How's the boy? J. D.?"

Larabee turned with Lassiter. "Don't see that that's any of your business."

"I didn't want to hurt him or that little girlfriend of his. But she got in my way, and he called me out."

"You plan on talkin' all day, or you plan on fightin'?"

"I'm going to fight."

Lassiter tossed his cigarillo aside and backed away, putting some twenty feet between himself and Larabee. The men stood motionless, watching each other for any sign that the other was about to draw.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" asked Larabee, his tone even and controlled.

"Be more fair if I let you draw first," Lassiter winked. "That way you might at least get your gun out of the holster before I kill you."

Larabee smiled wolfishly. "Not even Ezra would take that bet."

Lassiter's left hand flashed for one of his revolvers, and Larabee grabbed for his own. The shots came too' close together to determine whose came first. But it was Lassiter who fell to the ground.

Larabee walked forward, his gun cocked and ready. It proved unnecessary; Lassiter's eyes were already glazing in death.

Larabee holstered his revolver and turned toward his horse, ignoring the sticky wetness and burning pain in his left side.

As he untied the black, he heard riders approaching at a gallop. "I thought I told you to make sure nobody left town," he called over his shoulder to Tanner, his tone reproachful.

The former bounty hunter smiled slightly. "You forgot to say how long."

Larabee stepped into the stirrup and swung his leg over the gelding's back. Too late; he realized the foolishness of that action. Pain stabbed through him from the wound in his side. He grabbed for the saddlehorn but missed and fell. He dimly heard Nathan yell, "Catch him!" before everything went black.

"What are you doing in here?" Nathan 'demanded from the door of the saloon. "You're supposed to be in bed!"

Larabee looked up from the shot of whiskey he held. "You're beginning to sound like an old hen."

"You got a broken rib and you lost a lot of blood," Nathan continued, approaching the table where Larabee sat. "You oughtta be taking it easy for another couple days."

Larabee tossed back his drink, managing not to wince at the jab of pain it caused. "I am taking it easy."

"Suit yourself. Just don't come looking for me if you start bleeding again. "Nathan strode toward the doors, pausing only when he encountered Tanner on his way in. "Maybe you can talk some sense into him."

After the black healer left, Tanner walked across the saloon. He nodded greeting to Inez and slid into a chair across the table from Larabee. .

Larabee eyed him suspiciously. "You here to nag me, too?"

"I ain't your keeper."

"Damned right you ain't."

Tanner accepted a beer from Inez. "Thank you, ma'am. " He reached for the whiskey bottle in front of Larabee and said, "You look like you could use another one. "

Larabee slid his shot glass toward Tanner. Tanner splashed liquid into the glass but didn't move the glass back. The two men locked eyes. Tanner raised an eyebrow expectantly.

Chris smiled cynically and leaned forward, reaching for the glass. What little color he had drained from his face and he slowly slid forward, eyes rolling into his head. Tanner caught him and kept him from falling out of the chair, then put two fingers in his mouth and whistled shrilly.

Nathan entered almost immediately. "I figured it wouldn't be much longer," he said. "Let's get him back to his room."

Tanner helped raise the unconscious man, looping an arm around his shoulders. "This time, tie him to the bed," he suggested.

"That might be the only way to keep him there," Nathan agreed.

THE END

Jessica Lynn Syring, 40, died March 22nd 2007 at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minnesota from an undetermined illness. She is sorely missed and posting her stories, with her families permission, is My way of seeing that her creativity continues to live. Miss you my friend.

Jennye Jackman 2008


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